Stranger than Fiction
by Floralia
Summary: When a traumatised teenager stumbles from the woods hypothermic and covered in blood, the obvious conclusions are not necessarily the correct ones. Pre-series.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Stranger than Fiction

**Summary**: When a traumatised teenager stumbles from the woods hypothermic and covered in blood, the obvious conclusions are not necessarily the correct ones. Pre-series.

**Beta**: Sendintheclowns

**Disclaimer**: Anything recognisable belongs to the CW, I'm just borrowing.

**A/n** – This story is dedicated to Gidgetgal9. I technically started writing it on her birthday, if that counts. I may also have stolen a lot of the story idea form her somewhere along the line too (sorry).

**Day 1-2: Jake**

It was a pitch black night and the temperature outside had fallen well below zero. He could barely keep his eyes open. They'd been patrolling the back roads outside of town for hours, and for the first time since he'd been awarded his shiny new Officer's badge, Jake was grateful he didn't rank highly enough to be allowed to drive.

Henry Mason, his partner, was nearly thirty years his senior and had been sure to remind him at least once a day about the time he'd picked up a thirteen year old Jake outside the local school one Halloween for egging the principal's car.

Maybe Missy was right. Maybe he did need to get out, join her in the city. Find a job on a force where no-one had seen his turn in the middle-school production of Pirates of Penzance, but it wasn't that easy. Woodhouse wasn't the kind of town it was easy to leave; it was his life, all he'd known. She had a scholarship and a chance to get out, but for Jake, a place on the local force was a huge step up from the alternative, where they all assumed he'd end up – manning his father's car wash and handing out free sponges bearing his family's name.

At least his shift was nearly over, and she was home this weekend too. Maybe he'd call round if it wasn't too late, let her take a look at him in his crisp new uniform and see if that made her change her tune.

They were cutting through the forest about five miles out of town when they turned a bend to find a figure standing in the road in front of them.

"Jesus…" Henry swore, pounding the brake, and Jake was thrown into the passenger door as the car fishtailed on some ice.

They came to a stop ten feet away from the man, engine still ticking over, the headlights illuminating a small form wearing what looked like only jeans and a thin t-shirt standing with its back to them in the road.

Jake fumbled for the door release but his partner grabbed his arm in warning. "What are you doing?"

"Look at him Henry, it's just a kid."

He opened the car door and the figure turned at the sound, raising his right hand to shield his eyes from the glaring headlights, the only light for miles around. That was when Jake saw it, the thing that had obviously made the more experienced officer reluctant to approach.

The hand held up to the kids face held a knife. A big one. Even at this distance he could see the gleam of red on its blade.

"Holy shh…" Henry whispered in awe and Jake froze. The kid was young, he barely looked 13 and his frame was slight. Long bangs masked his eyes and he was visibly shaking in the breeze. The front of his t-shirt was covered in a large rust coloured stain and his clothing was torn. There was blood on his hands and arms, in his hair and running down his neck.

As the kids eyes locked with theirs he raised his other hand slightly in an attempt to keep the light out of his eyes and held the bloody knife in front of him in a defensive pose, his face set.

Slowly, so not to spook the kid any more than he was, Jake reached over to the radio on the dash and picked up the receiver.

"This is unit 7 requesting immediate back-up and medical assistance along Route 46 about five miles out of town, out beyond the Old Kershaw's place," he said quietly as his partner slowly guided his gun out of his holster and cracked open his own door.

Carefully the two men slid out of the car, weapons held in front of them.

"It's alright now kid, no-one's gonna hurt you," Henry intoned soothingly as they approached.

The kid took one jerky step backwards and almost tripped over his own uncoordinated feet. He looked as though he could barely stand. They were smack in the middle of no-where; Jake didn't even want to speculate on how this boy had got here. He looked like he should be long tucked up in bed, not wandering the back roads in the middle of the night, freezing cold and covered in blood.

The two officers circled slowly, each approaching from a different direction and the kid spun, frantic, knife arm darting as he tried to keep them both in view.

"Easy," Jake murmured. "We need you to put the knife down now, okay? We're here to help you."

"Can't help." His voice was hoarse, barely audible over the brief distance. "You don't know… didn't see…"

Jake took another step closer and could see that his eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. His skin was pale and clammy under a coating of grime and blood, and he was clearly in shock. But there was something more, too.

"Jesus, Henry. I know this kid."

"What?"

"Yeah, Winchester or something. Goes to school with my little sister."

"He lives in town?"

Jake could understand the other man's scepticism; they hardly ever got newcomers to Woodhouse and those they did get hardly went un-noticed. Jake had only seen him once talking to Kathy outside the school gates. He'd eyed the uniform warily as Jake had rolled up but been polite as anything when refusing a ride.

"I don't know. Showed up a couple of weeks ago in the middle of the semester. I think they rent one of the cabins over Teignmouth way."

"That's miles from here. Someone's gotta be missing this kid by now."

Jake just shrugged. Winchester's eyes kept darting between them sluggishly and there was a frown on his face, as though he was trying to follow their words. There was a bruise blossoming on his jaw, another around his left eye and his clothes were torn, his belt unfastened and miss-looped.

"Hey there," Jake tried. "Remember me? I'm Kathy's brother. We met last week. We just want to get you out of here, take you somewhere warm. Somewhere you can ring your folks, okay?"

The knife wavered on its way to lowering, but then flashing lights and sounds of sirens could be heard in the distance and Jake could tell whatever headway he might have made had been lost.

The kid spun wildly but Henry was there, already closing the distance. The blade swung in an arc towards him but the senior officer already had a firm hold on the Winchester kid's arm, twisting it, and the knife clattered onto the road between their feet.

"No! Don't touch me." The kid exploded in a flurry of movement. Jake had to race forward and assist the other man in restraining him, grabbing hold of skin that was like ice. He twisted and kicked but there was no strength behind the blows.

"Let go of me, you don't understand. There's a monster. You have to… Please…" The fight seemed to go out of him all at once and he sagged in Henry's grip. Jake let go of his arm, afraid to hold him too tightly until he'd been checked out, until they could assess what damage lay under all the dirt and blood.

And ambulance and a second police car pulled up alongside their vehicle and the kid twisted again, shielding himself from the increased light.

"These guys are gonna get you taken care of," Henry reassured him, steering him towards the paramedics already heading in their direction.

"No," the kid whispered. "You don't… the monster."

"What monster?" Jake asked, ignoring the look of irritation his partner flashed him.

The kid turned and stared back into the dark woods behind them and shivered. "There was a… and I couldn't. I tried, and I couldn't… and I think. Oh god, please. You have to find… There was a…" He twisted and tried to get away, but Henry's grip was firm.

"We'll deal with it," Jake soothed. "Just tell us where to look."

"You can't. It isn't safe." Winchester looked him squarely in the eyes. "I don't know if I killed it. There was so much blood." He brought his two crimson palms in front of his face and stared at them, as though seeing them for the first time. "Oh God… No!"

The kid bolted, heading for the tree-line, but Henry was ready for him and held him down as he twisted and screamed. One of the paramedics stepped forwards and injected something into the side of his neck and the struggles ceased.

"Please," he whispered as his eyelids drooped, turning his face in Jake's direction, and the young officer had the distinct impression the kid was reaching out directly to him. "Please. You have to help him."

With that the kid slumped in Henry's arms.

"Lord…" Henry breathed, shifting the load in his arms. Now that he was still, the Winchester kid looked unthreatening and impossibly young. With a pang in his chest Jake recalled again that this kid was his sister's age, and he had clearly seen something he was never meant to see.

"Okay," he nodded to one of the new officers that had arrived with the paramedics, who were now loading the injured kid onto a stretcher. "Head with the kid back into town. Stay with him while they check him out, see if you can get anything out of him, or get in touch with his family. They rent one of the cabins north of here so get someone out there; see if they can't find his damn parents. We'll check the woods."

"What?" Henry questioned as the others moved away.

"He can't have travelled far in that condition; we'll probably still be able piece together what happened out here."

"Hunt the monster?" Henry asked scathingly.

"That kid didn't get this far out here by himself," Jake told him. "That amount of blood is bound to have left a trail and monster or not, he was sure as Hell running from something."

His partner sighed but nodded approvingly. The ambulance headed back into town as the three remaining officers retrieved flashlights and Henry shut off their car, momentarily plunging the road into darkness.

"After you." Henry gestured with the beam of his flashlight for Jake to take point and he led the way up the road, all thoughts of his earlier fatigue forgotten. He'd never encountered anything like this in his training. This was the most exciting thing to have happened in Woodhouse in living memory, and here he was, getting to be a part of it. He couldn't wait to tell Missy – things like this probably never happened in the city.

They followed the road for several minutes in silence, scanning the undergrowth on either side for clues. There was the occasional spatter of blood along the roadside marking the kid's uneven flight but they were easy to miss in the poor light. At last they found an area where the thickets at the side of the road were torn and damaged, as though something had fought its way through; in all likelihood the place where the kid had left the forest and reached the road.

Henry shone his flashlight into the trees and the beam barely did anything to alleviate the gloom.

"Alright kids, that's it," he sighed. "End of the road."

"What?"

"We're not going to be able to see anything in there in this light. We need to wait until morning, get a team together, maybe some dogs. We'll find out what happened out there, don't you worry," he continued, overriding Jakes objections, "But if we head in there now we could do more damage than good. Trample evidence. Miss trails. If we do this, we do this smart, you understand me?"

"Yes Sir," Jake agreed. He didn't like waiting but the older man was right; they had next to no chance of seeing anything of value in this light.

Henry tried to drop him at home – their shift had officially ended over an hour ago – but Jake was determined to swing by the hospital instead and check on the kid. His sister had just turned 15 and Jake still didn't like letting her walk the mile long trail home from school by herself, especially in winter now the evenings were drawing in. He had a few choice words he wouldn't mind issuing to Winchester Senior about good parenting once he'd spoken to the doctors.

Only the elder Winchester wasn't there. No parents were, and McGregor hadn't been able to locate anyone at the lodges that were missing a child.

He hung around the hospital but it was another couple of hours before he was given any concrete news, and Winchester's parents were still a no show. If he hadn't seen it for himself he would have had a hard time reconciling the doctor's description with the mild mannered kid he'd been teasing his sister about since meeting him the week before.

Winchester was on a ward upstairs, restrained and heavily sedated after he'd woken up confused and severely agitated, mumbling about ghosts and monsters. He was exhausted and hypothermic with a dislocated shoulder they hadn't even been aware of when they'd been manhandling him in the road. They were monitoring for mild concussion and Jake had been right to think he was in shock. There was evidence of a previous broken arm and a liberal spattering of already fading bruises. He had a few fresh scrapes and contusions, but nothing that could account for the blood that had been soaking his hands and clothing.

Nothing apart from the knife, which Mason had already taken back to the station as evidence.

Jake had been keen to talk to him, get a statement, but the doctor made it clear that wouldn't be happening any time soon. In the meantime an officer would be posted at the kid's door – for whose protection Jake couldn't be sure – and they were recommending a full psych evaluation before anything he had to say was given any credence. It was possible a combination of shock and trauma was behind the combative and delusional behaviour.

It was equally possible the kid was just nuts, that his mind had been undone by whatever he'd seen. Only time would tell.

He'd re-assembled with the search team on the road just before dawn. He was technically off duty and had promised Missy's folks he'd be over for breakfast, but that felt unimportant now, and he didn't want to have to head home and explain to his little sister why her classmate wouldn't be in school.

He wasn't surprised to find that Henry Mason had also returned to aid in the search. He'd been home and changed out of his uniform, but despite the older man's brisk demeanour there was something about this kid, this whole situation, that was impossible to walk away from.

The early morning light was nothing more than an unearthly glow when they set off into the forest, the mist ice-cold in his lungs, waking him up with the fresh scent of earth and pine.

The trail was only slightly easier to follow, the light still not strong enough to fully cut through the trees, but with a group of them spread out beating the bushes, and with the assistance of Daisy, the scent hound borrowed from the next town over, they were able to trace the path of the kid's chaotic flight.

Jake hadn't really been sure what he was expecting to find. He'd seen the state of the kid's body and mind, but even he was taken by surprise by the carnage that greeted them an hour later.

The body they found had been so badly shredded that the surrounding grass and undergrowth was a circle of red up to a meter in diameter. Jake had to hold his arm against his nose to ward off the smell of blood and decay and the dog's barks were rabid.

"What the hell happened here," Henry whispered, coming to stand alongside him.

The undergrowth around them was trampled and torn as though it had witnessed an epic struggle. There looked to be far more blood scattered around the clearing than should have been possible with just one body, but the kid they had found had no wounds that would account for the discrepancy.

"Eh, guys…" the officer kneeling to investigate the victim spoke up hesitantly. "This poor bastard's still alive."

The scene was a flurry of activity after that – reinforcements were called and basic triage attempted. They were dealing with a man, possibly in his forties – it was hard to tell under all that blood – with three deep parallel slashes across his chest that made Jake's insides clench. There was a bottle of water at his side and the sleeve of a small flannel shirt was wrapped around his fingers and arm like a rosary. A backpack was resting under his ankles and a kid's bloodstained jacket was lying along his side, as though it had slipped from his shoulders.

"He got an ID?" Henry asked Officer Martin as she crouched to further assess his condition.

"No, but we got this. Pine lodge hunting lets." She dangled a key chain from one finger. "Just that and a… whatever the hell this is." She held a series of interlocking metal rings and a fat knotted piece of rope out in the palm of her hand, what looked like the spoils of a kids magic set.

"Well, I guess we know why daddy never got around to reporting his son missing," Mason commented wearily. "But what kind of father drags his kid miles out in the middle of no-where, on a school night. What the hell were they doing out here?"

Jake's mind flashed back to torn clothes, wild eyes and a reluctance to be touched, the kid's unfastened belt and history of old injuries. "Nothing good," he murmured, throat dry. He wondered what the odds were that the giant blade the kid had been carrying would match exactly the slash wounds across his father's chest.

"Maybe the kid slew a monster after all."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n** – Huge thanks to everyone reading this. All notes and disclaimers are the same as the previous chapter.

**Day 2-3: Sam**

He was aware of distant noise and movement. There was a pain in this head and his throat was dry. His limbs were like lead but his brain was floating, drifting on waves of nausea. There were people around him, talking to him, touching him, voices he didn't recognise; but he was too tired to find it important.

He floated for a while, disconnected. When he finally worked up the energy to open his eyes the world was distant and muted. It didn't hold his attention.

The next thing he was aware of there was a presence in the room. Turning his head hurt. The face leaning over him was blurred and its voice was soft, even if he couldn't pick out any words. The bed beneath him was absurdly comfortable and he closed his eyes, and when he opened them again the light had changed and he was alone.

The colours were subdued and institutionalised and the sharp smell of antiseptic hit the back of his throat.

Hospital.

He shifted carefully in bed, testing his range of motion. His head still felt woolly and it was hard to think. Harder still to make his limbs keep time with his brain's commands.

There was a dull ache in his shoulder that seemed to monopolise the whole right side of his body and shifting made it throb. His right arm was tucked protectively against his chest and held tight in a blue sling, but he could wiggle his fingers with just a hiss of pain so he didn't think it was broken.

He could tell by the quality of the light and the muted sounds that it was night. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up in a hospital – his appendix had ruptured when he was twelve; but that time Dean had been there, prodding him awake and playing with the adjustable bed. Dad had stayed home from the hunt for three whole weeks; he'd bought them so much ice-cream the day Sam had been discharged that Dean had to stay home from school with them the next morning and they'd spent the day watching movies, Dean curled around a trash can on the floor.

But his larger than life brother was conspicuous now only by his absence.

He tried to sit up but his right arm was in a sling and his left wasn't moving, and when he craned his neck he could see his left wrist was fixed to the side rail of his bed in a soft restraint.

With a whimper he struggled to rise, curling on his good side and hitching himself up until he was sitting upright, the pull on his stomach muscles threatening to push his nausea over the edge. He sat with his knees up to his chest and had to breathe deep while his vision and stomach settled.

When he was sure he could move without throwing up, Sam investigated the band tying his arm down. There was barely any give. Moving his right arm away from his chest took his breath away and there was no way he could free himself as long as his only good hand was bound.

He shivered in the thin hospital gown. He was tied to a bed and by the looks of it there was a police officer standing just outside his door.

This was bad.

To make matters worse, Dean and his father were nowhere in sight. He knew that Dean probably wouldn't be here – he was still in Michigan. But his dad was…

All of a sudden he was struggling to breathe. His vision was waving, there were spots of light dancing before his eyes, but it didn't matter. He had to get up. He had to get out. He had to find someone and make them…

Thick hands were grasping hold of his arms and he pushed against them. Somehow he got one leg on the floor but it wouldn't hold him and he pitched forward into someone's embrace. He was pushed back until he was sitting on the edge of the bed. The room was a flurry of noise and motion but he couldn't react to it because he still couldn't breathe. It had been fast and angry, his dad was screaming and his hands were covered in blood and he had to keep moving. He couldn't stop. He had to find someone who could help them.

Something harsh and plastic was forced over his mouth and nose but he didn't have a free hand to fight it off. Gradually his surroundings cleared enough for him to see the man leaning over him.

"You're having a panic attack, you need to relax," he was told. "Deep breaths, okay."

Sam closed his eyes and nodded, concentrating on breathing for a few minutes until when he opened them the room was starting to make a little more sense. Two police officers lingering in the doorway, a nurse adjusting a blood pressure cuff on his good arm - the tight pull of it grounding - and the doctor's face swimming into focus, calm and patient and rewarding him with a tight smile.

"Better?"

Sam nodded again, bringing his legs back onto the bed and drawing his knees back up in front of him. He'd lost the covers in his struggles and lacked the hands to draw them safely around him, and he was aware that he was shaking.

"Where's..?" he cleared his throat and tried again, having to wait until the breathing mask was removed for him. "Where's my dad?"

The doctor exchanged a glance with the officer on the door, and Sam could feel the tension in the room. It was doing nothing for his fragile calm.

"Did you find him?" Panic was starting to seep back into Sam's chest. "In the woods. You have to…"

"We found him," the doctor confirmed, his expression doing little to allay Sam's fears.

"Is he okay? Can I see him?"

The doctor crouched down in front of him and glanced again at the police, looking uncomfortable.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Sam looked between the adults' faces a couple of times and blinked. The younger of the two officers on the door couldn't meet Sam's eye.

Some of the details were hazy but he remembered enough. He remembered why they had been out there, the hours of tracking in the poor light. He remembered the moment it had all gone to hell.

But how could he tell them that? How could he explain the fear he'd seen in his father's eyes; the way he'd stepped in front of Sam and pushed him aside. How could he make them understand the weight of evil as it bore down on you or how badly his hands had shook as he'd tried to stem the flow of blood?

More importantly – what had his father told them?

"I…" they were watching him expectantly and he trailed off, unsure. And then he realised that they'd never answered his question.

"Is my dad here?" he asked again, louder this time, eyes darting from doctor to nurse to police officer and back again, trying to gauge where his most likely ally might lie. "Is he even alive?" he asked desperately, unsure what else it could be that they appeared so reluctant to tell him.

"It's okay Sam, you're safe here," the doctor told him, palms held out as though placating a distressed animal, and Sam knew that – he wasn't stupid – but that hadn't been what he was asking. It was a simple enough question; he didn't understand why they wouldn't tell him. He was fifteen years old and had just woken up in a hospital. Surely that he'd asked for his dad was the most normal thing about this whole situation. They must know he'd _seen_ what condition his father had been in when he'd left him - instead of being deliberately obtuse they should have been going out of their way to reassure him about his condition.

"Just tell me if he's alive." He tried to make it an order, to emulate John Winchester's no-nonsense tone, but even he could tell he fell short and it came out sounding more like a sob.

"He's alive," the doctor confirmed gently. "He's upstairs."

"And can I see him?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," he was told. "His… injuries were very serious."

"But he'll get better, right?"

"Right now he's very sick. He was hurt bad and he lost a lot of blood."

Sam nodded. They didn't need to coddle him, he'd _been_ there. He'd seen it happen.

"It was a long time before we were able to help him. He had to have an operation and he's still very weak. At the moment he's hanging in there."

"He could die?" Sam had known that all along, really, just hadn't let himself believe it. Needed to not believe it just to keep going.

"We're going to take it one day at a time, okay?"

Sam nodded numbly, despite the fact it wasn't remotely okay.

"When will I be able to see him?" When their dad had been laid up after the haunting in Seattle he and Dean had been allowed to sit with him, even when they were waiting for him to come round from surgery. Sam remembered the frizzy haired nurse who had held his hand, and promising Dean he wouldn't cry.

He might be older now, but he couldn't be sure he could make that same promise.

"I'm sorry, let's just concentrate on getting you feeling better for now, alright."

"But..?"

"Is there anyone you'd like us to call – your mom? Any other relatives?"

"My brother, Dean. He's… um. He's in Michigan visiting friends. I… I don't have a number. My dad… it'll be in his cell phone, you could…"

The doctor was shaking his head. "We didn't recover a phone with your father's belongings."

"Oh…" Dean had checked in with their dad yesterday morning but he would probably be scoping out the mountain trails and out of cell range by now. They were due to meet up with him at Pastor Jim's in a week's time, but without a number Sam had no way of reaching him before then.

"Anyone else, an aunt or uncle maybe?"

Uncle. "My Uncle Bobby. He lives in South Dakota, but I could call…"

"Leave the number with Laura," the doctor indicated to the nurse still poised at Sam's side, "and someone will call for you."

"But I could…"

"I think it's best if we talk to him first, explain the situation. Now," the doctor stood before Sam had time to protest and started bustling around the bed, no longer giving eye contact. "How about we examine you now since you're awake, okay?"

He was tucked back into bed, a pen light was flashed in his eyes and his shoulder was probed, and he was forced to answer questions about pain and nausea and whether he needed to pee. Then he was told to rest and someone would be back to check on him in a couple of hours.

Talking to his father's doctor and being allowed out of the restraints were not considered to be good ideas at the moment, and when he asked again to be allowed a phone to call Bobby himself, he could see that he had finally worn out the doctor's patience.

"I really think we need to be able to talk to your uncle ourselves, apprise him of the situation. You have to trust us. We're doing this for your own protection."

"Protection..?"

"You need to get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

With that the doctor and nurse left the room. He could see the doctor exchange a few words with the officers as he passed but the door swung closed and he couldn't pick out the words. He tried calling out to them to ask them why they were there but his pleas were ignored.

He sat in silence for a few minutes, alone in the dark, and tried to weigh up his options. For the time being there was nothing he could do. The hospital would talk to Bobby in the morning and he would hopefully be here before dark. Bobby should also be able to get in touch with Dean, who was much closer to home and would bust Sam out of here in no time. It was late, and they'd probably be much more likely to let him see his father in the morning, especially if he behaved in the meantime.

Truth be told, he couldn't do anything if he wanted to. He was fifteen and still attached to the bed, and suddenly aware that he was so very tired. He didn't think they'd drugged him but his limbs and head felt heavy and he could barely keep his eyes open.

Maybe he _should_ sleep. Things were bound to look better in the morning.

-0-

Cindy, the day nurse, brought him breakfast a little after seven. She was friendly and had a nice smile, but she wasn't able to give him any information. Nor was she allowed to unfasten his restraints and take him to the bathroom. Instead she handed him a bed-pan and moved a screen in front of the bed. She did lengthen the cord fixing his hand to the bed rail to give him some room to manoeuvre for himself, and she yelled at the new police officers when they tried to protest at Sam's being hidden from their view, so Sam chose to forgive her for the humiliation. Even if the whole experience ranked as one he would not be sharing with Dean. Ever.

Thankfully the fact he could now move his arm more than a couple of inches meant he was left to his own devices and didn't have to suffer the indignity of Cindy having to feed him. Not that he was hungry anyway. He still hadn't been given any information on his father and the smell of breakfast turned his empty stomach. He nibbled on some toast and waited for the tray to be removed.

It was a couple more hours before anyone other than Cindy came to check on him.

"I hear you didn't eat breakfast." The new doctor was older but dressed more casually – he didn't have the white coat and stethoscope of the night before.

"Not hungry," Sam murmured.

"Understandable, given the circumstances," the new guy conceded with a tight smile. "Sam, my name is Dr Harding, I'm from psychology. Dr Reeves thought it might be a good idea if I come talk to you."

"Oh. Okay." He didn't much care who did the talking as long as he got answers, and maybe he would be more likely to get this guy to believe it was best for his emotional wellbeing for someone to explain to him what the hell was going on.

"Firstly, I've been informed that so far we've been unable to reach your uncle at the number you gave us. We're going to keep trying, but is there someone else we could call in the meantime? Someone closer to home?"

Bobby and Jim Murphy's numbers had been drummed into him since he was old enough to be left in the house by himself, so he could give those without any trouble. But unless they found his father's phone or he somehow got access to his dad's journal there was little more he could tell them. Most of the grown-ups he knew were as nomadic as they were, and those that had cell phones were constantly losing or breaking them on the job.

One good thing might come out of this whole fiasco, he thought bitterly. If he'd had his own cell he could have easy access to all his dad's contacts for himself. So much for the assertion that Sam would always be within reach of Dean or their dad and had no need of a phone of his own.

"I'll pass Pastor Murphy's number on to the desk when we're done here, okay. I'm sure someone will be by soon to take care of you."

Sam didn't need anyone to take care of him; he could manage that perfectly well by himself. He _had_ in fact, ever since Dean was deemed old enough to accompany their father on jobs, but he knew better than to admit that much. Instead, he just nodded quietly.

"Tell me about yourself, Sam."

"What?"

"I understand you're new in town. Do you move around a lot?"

"Yeah, I guess. Why..?"

"And why is that, do you think?"

"My dad's work. He goes where the jobs are."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"How does…? What? I'm sorry, why are we...?"

"Why do you think you're here, Sam?" Harding interrupted his protestations, giving him steady eye-contact that made him squirm.

"Well… I hit my head, and I hurt my shoulder," he moved his arm to indicate the sling, hissing slightly at the idiocy of the move. "They said I was dehydrated when I came in, and c…cold." He trailed off, noting that the doctor was shaking his head in disappointment. He felt like he was in school and had been asked a question by an expectant teacher only to learn to everyone's disappointment that he had completely missed the point of the lesson.

"Why do you think Dr Reeves asked me to come speak with you?"

"Oh." Sam hadn't really thought about it, but he supposed it made sense. "Because my dad got hurt. It's p… it's pretty bad." And he had witnessed it after all, had to leave him alone in the woods and try to find help.

He took a deep breath and tried to stop shaking, not wanting the guy in front of him to see how freaked out by it all he was. He had to prove he could be strong, or they'd never let him see his father.

"But I'm okay," he continued hurriedly. "I mean, I think I'll be okay. I'll be better if I could see him. If I could see for myself…"

"Do you remember how you got here?" Harding's tone was clinical and even, without even a hint of curiosity, as though he hadn't heard a word Sam had been saying.

Sam shuddered. "I ran," he whispered. "Through the… I left him and I ran, and…" he trailed off and sniffed, tried once more to get his breathing under control. In truth it was a little hazy after that. It felt like it had taken hours to reach the road, hours he was sure his father didn't have, and he was cold and scared and didn't know if it was still out there, if it was tracking him even now or if it had gone back for his father, who he'd left completely unprotected, and all he'd had was one stupid knife and… why was he being made to re-live this?

"Do you remember meeting Officer Mason and his partner in the road?"

Sam brought his good hand up to shield his eyes and squinted, shaking his head.

"You don't remember talking to them? How about talking to the doctors and nurses here when you were being examined?"

"I don't… I can't…" He pulled his arm up fiercely but there was no more give and the bed rail shuddered violently. He needed to move. He needed to get away from this guy's piercing eyes. He needed to be allowed to leave, to see his father, to call someone and tell them what had happened. He needed them to stop asking him stupid questions and tell him what the hell was going on.

"What can you tell me about the monster, Sam?"

His insides went cold and his eyes were searching for an exit before he was even aware of it. Was this guy for real? What did he know?

His feet were tangled in the blankets and he couldn't free them, and he couldn't get the hell off this bed. He'd messed up but he didn't know how and there were glowing eyes and a low rumbling growl and his father was screaming and there was just…

"No!" Hands were gripping him by both biceps and his right arm throbbed in agony and he was being pushed back down onto the bed. "Don't touch me."

"…need to calm down or you're going to hurt yourself. Sam. You…"

They were crowding him and he couldn't breathe. He twisted to the side, worried he was going to be sick.

"Okay, that's it. Push the Haldol." Harding sounded resigned and there was a prick in his right leg. His limbs grew heavy and he tried to fight it, but the snarling eyes followed him down into the darkness.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 3-4: Jake, Colin**

It had been over 40 hours since they'd picked the Winchester kid up on the roadside, and Jake was yet to be allowed to talk to him.

"You'll have to take it up with Harding," he was told when he called in at the hospital late in the afternoon. Dr Reeves, the doctor that had spoken to him the night the kid had been admitted, had finally managed to drag himself away from a case of mass food-poisoning at a business luncheon long enough to take him to one side.

"Harding arranged for Winchester Junior to be transferred to his unit late this morning, it's over on the east wing."

"The psych ward?"

"From a medical standpoint there's not much reason to keep him here any longer. He'll need to keep his shoulder immobile for a couple more days, then we'll start him up on some kind of physiotherapy regime, but that's nothing that can't be done on an outpatient basis, and we can prescribe him whatever painkillers he might need. His fluids and temperature are back to normal levels and there's not much more we can do for him down here. But the kid's definitely got issues and if psych didn't admit him he'd be shipped off to CPS. As it is a social worker is on her way over to sit in on Harding's next session."

"They still haven't managed to track down any family?"

"No. Both numbers the kid gave us seem to be dead ends. We left a message with the parish council for Pastor Murphy – seems he's some kind of family friend," Reeves supplied, noting Jake's raised eyebrows. "Apparently he's on some kind of retreat until the end of next week; no-one can get a message to him."

"What about Singer?"

"Still no answer. He owns some kind of Salvage yard out in the middle of no-where, South Dakota, but so far we're getting nothing from his home or work number."

"You got the name of the place? I could maybe make some calls, see if I can get some guys to swing round his place, see if we can raise him that way."

"Sure. I'm open to anything at this point."

Jake had been in Woodhouse his whole life and couldn't go for more than five minutes without bumping into someone who had known him from birth. The idea that they couldn't find anybody, anywhere, that knew anything about this kid or his family was inconceivable to him. His partner was on the way over to the cabin the family had been renting to see if they could uncover anything there that might give them a clue as to what had been going on in the forest that night, or how to get in touch with a responsible adult.

"What about Winchester Senior?"

"You're gonna have a wait on your hands there. There's been no real change in his condition since you were last here. He's still not triggering the vent by himself and we're monitoring for post-op infection. Any answers you get, you're going to have to look elsewhere for."

"That's why it's important we talk to the kid."

"You can try Harding, but I wouldn't hold out much hope. He's protective of his patients – especially if he believes it might not be in Sam's best interest to talk with you at the moment."

Jake thanked the doctor and sighed, watching him head back to work. It had felt so cut and dry when he'd been staring at John Winchester's savaged body in the forest clearing. His son had been spouting crazy, and had still had the bloodstained knife in his hands. All his superiors wanted was a statement, ideally a confession, and they could be on their way. Obviously things were complicated by the fact Sam was a minor, but throw in a potential history of abuse, psychological disturbance, and the fact he was going to have to go three rounds with CPS before any decisions could even be contemplated, and it was turning out to be more of a headache than he'd originally thought.

Jake had met him. Only briefly, he'd admit, but still. What kind of instincts did he possess if he couldn't see the kind of nightmare that kid was living, what it might drive him to do? Never mind the fact Kathy flat out refused to believe any of his assertions were true. He hadn't been aware his little sister even _knew_ language like that, but that was how sure she was that the police were wrong about her friend.

The sooner he could get a statement, the easier his life would be.

-0-

Colin Harding had managed to get Sam his own room on the ward, complete with its own lock and barred windows. This seemed to finally convince the local police department they could rely on the hospital's own security to ensure that one abandoned and traumatised child didn't bolt.

His patient had woken groggy and confused a couple of hours ago and had obviously not been reassured by his new, more secure, location. Colin hadn't wanted to drug him – he'd no doubt undone any of the limited headway he'd been making. It was clear that Winchester was not one to trust easily, but he had been so combative Colin had been afraid he would seriously hurt himself, or one of the nurses, which would have done nothing to help his case.

He'd left him alone since their disastrous meeting that morning but had been informed by the nurses that his patient had watched them with suspicion whenever they'd entered the room, was refusing to eat, and was still insisting that they let him in with his father.

Truth be told, he was running out of excuses; and he did need to find a way to get the kid to trust him. But Colin was sure that Sam needed to be able to accept and admit what had happened before he was confronted visually by it. He was so clearly barely hanging on as it was – he might think himself strong but Colin could see it was an illusion, and no matter how tough this kid might act, the sight of his father in that hospital bed would undo him.

He had a feeling that having Maria Clover from CPS accompanying him on his visit later would do enough to un-nerve the kid by itself.

Colin had just left a group session when he found the young officer that had been lurking in the ER earlier was now hanging around outside his office. For a minute he considered ducking into the nearest ward out of sight, but then the young man raised a hand and gave a brief wave in his direction and he knew he hadn't reacted quickly enough.

Colin sighed. It had been naïve to believe he could put this off for much longer.

"Dr Harding?" the young man – Jake something, he was sure. Colin thought he might have graduated the same time as his nephew – held out a hand and pumped his enthusiastically.

Colin nodded and held open his office door, ushering the other man inside.

"I'm Deputy Riley. I was one of the officers that found the Winchesters that night."

He nodded again, giving nothing away.

"I'm here because we've yet to get Sam Winchester's statement, and that's going to be crucial in determining exactly what happened in the forest."

"I appreciate that," Colin began carefully. "But I really have to consider what I believe to be in the best interest of my patient.

"I understand that, but all I'm asking for is a couple of minutes…"

"A couple of minutes to ask questions and poke around in an incident that Sam is clearly not ready to talk about."

"His father was attacked – he's still in critical condition, and he's the only witness who can tell us…"

"Witness or suspect?" Colin sighed. "Either way you're right, he clearly _did_ see what happened. You saw the extent of damage to Winchester Senior's body. Whatever his part in it, that kid witnessed a severely traumatic event; one he's simply not ready to face. We asked him if he could tell us what happened when he was admitted, and again this morning, and both times he reacted badly, hyperventilating and fighting the orderlies so badly he had to be sedated.

"Look," he sighed, understanding the other man's frustration. "Even if you were to ask him your questions, and we could keep him calm while you interviewed him, I still don't think it would do you any good."

"How do you..?"

"I'm not convinced he even knows himself what happened out there. When we asked him if he knew why we were interested in talking to him, he seemed genuinely confused. I really don't think he understands fully why he's here or why the police might be interested in him. If that's the way his mind had chosen to protect itself from what happened, then frankly I'm worried what the result might be if we were to by-pass those defensive measures and come straight out and tell him. He's an incredibly vulnerable young man."

"What about his assertion there was a monster out there in the forest with them? Is that his way of distancing his father from whatever happened out there?"

"It's possible. He's definitely skittish but we don't know for sure whether there _is_ a history of abuse – that's pure speculation at this point. Maybe dad's the monster, maybe it's a shield for his own actions – I really can't say. But I do know the subject upset him greatly. The kid couldn't keep his eyes still, searching every shadow in case there was something lurking in wait, and when we pushed the issue his mind retreated. So much so that I don't think he's fully aware of his own actions.

"I know it's important that you talk to him, and I know you consider him to be a danger to others, maybe to himself - he's definitely physically capable of it. That's why we have him isolated and in restraints. But I'm afraid you're going to have to rely on forensic evidence and other means to determine the true history between Sam and his father. And before you can convict him of any offence I need to determine just how responsible he is for his own actions."

Colin had only had one real session with Winchester but he's been observing his patient for over a day, and as his condition improved he grew more alert and watchful. He'd also spoken to the principal at Sam's school, who may have only known the kid for a couple of weeks but the consensus was that he was a generally bright and courteous pupil. His records showed that he'd moved schools consistently, which definitely spoke of a disruptive background, but each move had been initiated by a parent and not any trouble he may have caused, he was never removed from school for long periods, and his grades had been maintained. The school had only had limited dealings with the father but nothing stood out to suggest there was any cause for concern.

There was also nothing untoward in his medical records that might be suggestive of a history of abuse. He'd suffered a ruptured appendix a couple of years ago and the hospital in Atlanta remembered Winchester senior as nothing but a doting parent. If anything it was the older brother and John Winchester himself that had the more suspicious medical histories, but Colin knew from past experience that it didn't have to run more than skin deep to still be abuse.

"Look, why don't I drop off a report after I meet with him later today, lay out my recommendations? But I'll have to run it by my colleagues in social work and the legal department. I don't feel comfortable sharing anything more until I've had more time to make a full assessment, and until you charge him with something. I don't know how much I should share with you since I'm currently acting without parental consent."

He could tell that deputy Reilly was less than happy with that proposal, but there was nothing he could do about it without petitioning the courts.

Colin spent the next couple of hours bouncing back and forth between his department and the emergency room, admitting one overdose and a mother that was insisting her children be vaccinated against the alien virus that was working its way through the local kindergarten.

He called in to speak to Sam briefly at the end of his shift, but the memory of how their last meeting had ended meant his patient was not keen to talk and Colin was reluctant to push. A night in his new room to get used to his situation might be the thing Sam needed to help him to relax and open up.

It wasn't until the next morning that Ms Clover from CPS deemed fit to find her way out to Woodhouse. He'd pretty much left Sam alone since their disastrous first session. The nurses had been in to see him a couple of times and tried to interest him in food or TV, but beyond that he'd pretty much been left to his own devices since waking in his new room the previous afternoon.

Sam was sat at the head of the bed, chin on his knees and staring at the rain on the window, his now free left arm curled around his legs, his right arm still in its sling. He'd changed into the hospital issue pyjamas but was yet to shower, his shaggy hair now hanging in greasy curls across his face.

"Hi Sam, my name's Maria Clover and I work for Child Protective Services over in Tiverton. Do you know what that is?"

The twitch in his cheek told Colin clearly that he did, and the fact he made no effort to take the hand she was holding out to him showed just what he felt about her involvement.

There was an awkward pause in which Ms Clover lowered her hand, flexing it slightly by her side and shifted in embarrassment. Sam turned to study her then, peering up at her attentively from beneath his bangs, but she was too wrong-footed to immediately find something to say.

Colin noted with interest the minute crinkle of movement around his patient's mouth and eyes that told he was working hard to keep his face neutral. He seemed to be enjoying the fact this woman had got off to such an obvious bad start.

"Ms Clover is here to talk to you because we haven't been able to reach any of your family."

Any amusement was gone in an instant and Sam's eyes widened slightly, the implication of that sinking in, before his face became impassive once more.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Sam turned to meet his gaze and nodded hesitantly, eyeing him with new curiosity.

"What about my dad?" he spoke up.

Colin could see Clover shift uncomfortably next to him. "I don't think we should be focusing on that now, sweetie. How 'bout we…"

"Has no-one been in to talk to you about your father's condition?" Colin spoke up, overriding her protests. Sam shook his head with some urgency, gaze glued to him with something like relief in his eyes as he uncurled himself slightly on the bed, letting his shoulders and knees relax slightly.

"I asked one of the nurses to have your father's doctor come in and speak to you," Colin lied. "It's possible he's been tied up in surgery. I'll go and speak to him now while you and Ms Clover talk and I'm sure he'll send someone down soon, okay."

"Thank you," his patient whispered, his eyes suspiciously bright.

Colin nodded and gave and understanding smile. "I'll leave you two alone to talk, but I'll be in to catch up with you both later, okay."

Sam nodded again, the most responsive Colin had seen him, but he noticed the kid shifted on the bed as Colin turned to go, and by the time he was facing Clover again his knees were back forming a protective barrier against the woman's words.

Colin closed the door on them with a grim smile. He should really have stayed in with them for the whole of her meeting but he could tell straight away that this kid would not be susceptible to her charms or welcome anything she had to say, and he did not want to be tarred by the same brush in Winchester's mind. It was important for all of them that he find a way to get this kid to trust him, and if that meant being allied against child services then for now that would be the role he would take.

Although the kids obvious distrust of the CPS agency should probably be taken into consideration.

He'd give Clover fifteen minutes to thoroughly scare his patient stupid before he stepped in and drew things to a close.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 5: Sam**

"Hold it there for five more seconds, good, and relax."

Sam exhaled and brought his right arm back to his side, resisting the urge to cradle it to his chest.

"The muscles are still tight, but from what I can see you seem to have retained full range of motion in your arm."

"So it'll be okay?"

"The shoulder will probably be weaker than your left, and you might have to be more careful with it to prevent future dislocations, but if you keep on with the exercises I see no reason why you won't regain full use of the arm in time."

Sam nodded but remained silent. He wasn't sure if it was good news or not.

"Try and do one more set before bed, and again in the morning, and I'll be back tomorrow afternoon to take another look at you, okay?"

Sam nodded again and watched the physical therapist leave, sighing as the door was locked closed behind him. He picked the sling up from the back of the chair where he'd discarded it and held it in his bad hand, tightening his grip and grinding his teeth at the stab of pain that shot through his upper arm and shoulder. The sling had only been removed that morning and he knew the nurse would have preferred him to keep it on a little while longer, and in truth he missed its added support. He had promised to keep the arm steady and to not over-use it, and to replace the sling if he felt it was needed, but for now he was relishing the thought of having both his hands free.

Discarding the sling he sank down into the chair and stared out of the window for a while. It was a gray day and rain and the window bars marred his view of the staff parking lot, but he wasn't really seeing it anyway.

One of the nurses had brought him a couple of books that morning and there was a TV in his room but he was too nervous to appreciate either distraction. His father's doctor had finally seen fit to talk to him the day before, and while much of it had been as he'd expected, he still didn't like anything the man had had to say. John Winchester was an indomitable force. He saved lives and slew things that went bump in the night. He was supposed to be loud and unwavering and trying to talk Sam out of trying out for the track team. He was definitely _not_ supposed to be in a coma, alone in a room at the other side of the hospital. He was supposed to be intractable and impossible to live with, but he wasn't supposed to _die_. He wasn't supposed to save Sam just to leave him alone.

They thought he was too fragile to be allowed to sit with him. Sam wasn't sure he disagreed, and he knew better now than to argue. Trying to convince them, being constantly ignored, was exhausting.

The whole situation was exhausting.

Pastor Jim was on a retreat and therefore unreachable. That could mean anything from a spiritual mission to a hunt, Sam didn't know – the fact that no-one could get a message to him was the only part that mattered. They were due to meet up with him at his cabin in two days. Sam only had to hold on a little while longer and Jim would be suspicious of their absence; hopefully suspicious enough to do something about it.

If he wasn't, then Dean certainly would be when he arrived at Jim's with no Sam or dad to meet him.

Sam just had to hope the hospital didn't decide to discharge him before then. He never would have expected to want to be retained under psychological evaluation, but the woman from CPS had been quick to assure him there would be a place in a group home waiting for him if need be. Only once they got him into the system it was a very real possibility that, on examining the stability of his home life, they might decide to keep him there.

This time last week his main stress in life was how to fit sharpening all the knives around his geometry homework. Looking back, it seemed such a pointless worry to have.

He was still sitting at the window a couple of hours later when Dr Harding entered the room.

Thankfully he was alone.

This afternoon he was bearing a chocolate bar which he opened and broke into pieces, placing it on the table between them as he took a seat opposite Sam.

"I got called into a consult over lunch," he offered by way of explanation, taking a piece and nudging the bar further along the table to Sam.

Sam reached over and snagged a piece, curling up in his chair and turning to give the doctor his full attention. He wouldn't go as far as to say he had been looking forward to Harding's visit, but so far he was the only person in this place that seemed to hear more than white noise when Sam spoke to him. The nurses were always polite, if a little wary, and the doctors and the physical therapist were purely professional; unless Sam was asking them for water or questions about his rehabilitation he was for the most part ignored.

Harding had also sat in towards the end of his meeting with that Clover woman, and Sam got the distinct impression he'd cut it shorter than she'd have liked.

He sat back and observed the other man in silence, waiting for him to speak. Harding might be the only person in the place to treat him like a human being but the guy was still a shrink and Sam wasn't stupid. He'd wait and see what Harding was here to discuss this time before he decided whether or not he wanted to join in.

He still wasn't sure what grounds they were using to keep him here, other than the fact he was a minor and had literally no-where else to go. The first few days in the hospital were hazy but he was drug free now and thinking clearly. Apparently he had been delirious and talking crazy when they'd found him, talking about everything from ghosts to werewolves and freaking out over the lack of protection on the unit. For the past couple of days he'd gone out of his way to appear rational, and had stated categorically that ghosts didn't exist and there had been no monsters present on the road that night.

Worryingly, they were yet to ask him how he and his father had come to be injured. He'd seen the police officer hanging around the ward, caught him peering in Sam's door on more than one occasion, but so far they were being ominously silent on the subject.

Sam had spent a long time trying to come up with some convincing to tell them, so did not begrudge the wait.

"How's my dad?" he asked at last, sensing that Harding was equally likely to sit here in silence forever unless he broke it. He glanced surreptitiously at the door to see if there was someone out there; if Harding was merely hiding out in here to avoid someone rather than actually here for him.

"You want to talk about your father?" Harding sounded surprised, which caused Sam to frown. He'd only been banging on about it since the moment he woke up. He'd finally had a lot of his questions answered but would never be completely satisfied until he could see for himself. He didn't like knowing they'd left his father there alone. Dean would never have allowed their father to be alone – Dean would have made them let him in.

It wasn't that Sam hadn't tried; he hoped his dad would know that.

He was locked in this room by himself, left alone for most of the day. He didn't need to be able to ask his father to know they would both prefer it if they could be alone together. It would go a long way to making him feel less abandoned at least. Give him purpose.

"Do you know if there's been any change? Dr Brook said there's been some improvement, that maybe he was getting better."

"How do you feel about that?"

"What the hell kind of question..?"

"It would be understandable if…"

"Because we move around a lot! Because he pulls me out of school, you think I want him dead! You think…" Sam's breath caught. "Oh my god – you do, don't you?"

He lowered his legs back to the floor and sat up straight. Harding narrowed his eyes at Sam across the table, but otherwise remained silent.

"You think that I…" How could he have been so stupid? The police hanging around his room, the restraints, the weird questions and behaviour, even their determination to keep him away from his father… it was all starting to make a horrible kind of sense.

Of course they were looking for a human explanation behind what had happened to his dad, and with Sam so conveniently located they obviously hadn't felt the need to look too far.

"I didn't…" He took a breath and closed his eyes, willing himself not to panic. This was so much worse than he'd thought. "Why haven't the police been in to question me, if that's what they think?"

"The police haven't been in because I asked them not to," Harding confirmed.

Sam looked at him sceptically.

"Ok, so I ordered them not to. I told them it was my strong opinion as your doctor that you should not be forced to remember what happened until you were ready."

Sam blinked, unsure what to make of that. He knew exactly what had happened to his father – unfortunately that part of the evening had been etched into his mind.

"Are you ready?"

He shuddered, despite himself. Even if he could sit with someone who wouldn't have him committed for opening his mouth, he wasn't sure he would be ready to talk about it. Not all of it. But he could give another hunter the salient details.

He doubted Harding would appreciate those somehow.

But it was clear he would have to say something.

"I didn't hurt him." He remembered his father's scream as he'd pressed down on the wounds, attempted to staunch the bleeding, and wondered if the doctor could see the lie in his words. "The… the wounds on his chest. That wasn't me."

"You weren't alone in the woods."

Sam shook his head.

"Who was out there with you? Did your brother go with you to..?"

"What? No! Dean's in Michigan, he is. He'd be here now if we could reach him. If Dean had been there he would never have let it…" he broke off, trying to reel himself back in.

"What _it_?" Harding asked. "Was 'it' your monster? The one you told Officer Reilly to watch out for?"

"There's no such thing as monsters," Sam intoned, staring Harding in the eye.

"Do you really believe that?"

Sam blinked and sat back, surprised. "Of course I do. I'm not an idiot."

"So what was it that attacked your father?"

"I don't know; it happened so fast. I think it was a bear."

"There are no bears in these woods."

"Tell that to my dad. Or to Max Bygrove," he added under his breath. "Shouldn't we get the police in here – let them take my statement?"

"I'm sure Officer Reilly would like that very much," Harding agreed. "But it might be better if you talk to me first."

They sat in silence for a moment while Sam gathered his thoughts.

"I can't help you until you talk to me, Sam. You want to get out of here, and you want the police off your back, then you have to help me understand what happened. You have to talk to me."

So he did.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Day 5-6: Jake, Colin, Dean**

Henry's account of the Winchester's place was like something out of a one of those movies from the '50s, about the scores of Americans that fortified themselves against the threat of nuclear attack; Jake was really sorry to have missed it. Especially since his visit to the hospital had been such a bust. He was still awaiting the psychologist's evaluation and it was getting harder to ignore the disappointment in his supervisors' glances.

Henry and Harriet Martin had spent the better part of the day poking around the Winchesters' cabin on the pretence of looking for next of kin, or for some kind of evidence in his home life that might provide an explanation behind an apparently mild mannered kid going psycho and hacking at his father with a 15" blade.

Allegedly.

The visit had been a waste of time on both counts, but there had been plenty of other interesting things to keep them occupied. While Jake had been passed around the hospital and fobbed off at every turn, his partner and their colleague had been photographing some seriously crazy decor. While he'd been in the station compiling a background check and profile on John Winchester, they'd been cataloguing his collection of occult books and wilderness survival guides.

Jake had seen the photos taken of the place, had been sorting through them all morning. If he didn't know there were two teenage boys living there he would never have guessed. There was no games consol in the living room, no comic books in the bedroom. A neatly packed school backpack and a stash of M&Ms and skin mags in the closet were the only outward signs. Everything else in the place was either functional, or outright bizarre.

The closet was full of outdoor clothes and hiking gear, the cupboards stocked with basic goods and survival rations. The kitchen table looked like it had never seen a meal, buried nearly 3 inches high in books and print outs and ordinance survey maps of the area.

He still didn't know what Winchester had been doing dragging his son out there into the middle of no-where, but it was becoming clear it was no spur of the moment thing.

What little details Jake had managed to piece together during his research added up to form no fluffier picture. Winchester had been a Marine, served in Vietnam, and after his tour had returned home to Kansas, married a local girl, and taken a couple of odd jobs as a mechanic until opening his own shop with a buddy in town. He had two sons, Dean born 1979 and Samuel 1983, the same year his wife had died in a mysterious fire in their home.

John had managed to rescue his two boys from the blaze.

Things got a little hazy after that.

No permanent job, no fixed address, just a string of cheap apartments in backwater locations, constantly moving, doing God knew what while his children limped through school. In fact, the elder Winchester himself was almost impossible to trace – it was only because he'd kept his two sons enrolled in school that Jake was able to compile even the limited data he had.

The tour of 'Nam, the loss of his wife, the erratic behaviour and obsessive condition of his desk; it was all screaming PTSD in the worst possible way. The constant moving and obvious interest in survivalist training spoke of an ex-militant paranoia that could not have proved to be a healthy environment for two young kids. This family was an accident waiting to happen. It was a miracle one of them hadn't snapped sooner.

Only a couple of weapons were found on the premises – a set of mean looking knives, one shotgun and one hand gun, both of which were licensed. Jake didn't doubt that the knife Sam Winchester had been carrying had come from his father's stash.

So far they had been unable to locate John Winchester's car or truck, but the picture was becoming clear enough. Winchester and his youngest son head out for a night of camping out and hunting in the wilds, no doubt putting the theory of their survivalist training into practice. Only somewhere down the line they had a disagreement – maybe daddy takes the games too far – and Sam pushes back in an incredibly brutal way.

By the looks of it Jake would say it was unplanned; a split second spur of the moment thing that he'd been unable to take back. But the way he'd tended to his father's wounds and arranged his body, the fact he'd apparently been trying to find help, spoke to the fact that he probably regretted it. That and the fact no-one who had ever spoken to the kid gave any credence to the idea he could have committed such an act in cold blood.

He'd run the theory by the sheriff and other officers and all seemed happy with his explanation of events. All that was left was to interview the kid, go about charging him, and see if his doctor's claim of temporary insanity would stick.

He was just putting the finishing touches to his report on John Winchester when he was called into the sheriff's office. Apparently Dr Harding had been on the phone – Sam Winchester was ready to give a statement, and Jake was excited to learn he had been chosen for the task. A familiar face, maybe someone less threatening than one of the more senior officers.

Jake didn't care why, he just wanted a chance to see this through, find an explanation for the nightmare he'd walked into.

He'd have to tread carefully – the presence of Winchester's doctor, lawyer and social worker was going to turn the kid's interview into a circus, but he'd been given leave to bring them back to the station and make it all official.

He was just leaving the sheriff's office, promising for the third time to do his damndest to avoid a media circus, when Henry Mason strode into the office looking excited. Seeing Jake and their superiors huddled together he moved purposefully in their direction, eyes alight with excitement and grim determination.

"You're never going to believe what I have here," he issued, waving a few loose sheets of paper in their faces.

"And what would that be?" Sheriff Turner demanded.

"The forensic report on the knife we took from the kid. Our guys in Tiverton have been analysing the wound patterns in Winchester Senior's flesh, comparing it with the blade…" He paused for effect.

"And?" Jake demanded.

"They're not a match."

"What? How's that..?"

"Don't ask me, but they swear it's impossible for a knife with those serrations to have caused such a smooth edged wound. Whatever was used to take Winchester down, that wasn't it."

"But there was blood all over the blade," Jake protested.

"That's where it gets _really_ interesting," Mason continued, handing over the report to their boss. "The blood on the knife wasn't a match. It's not Winchester's. They say it's a weird mixture of animal and human, obviously cross contaminated, but none of it is his.

"Whoever that kid stabbed with that knife, it wasn't his father."

-0

He was due to start afternoon rounds in half an hour and there were discharge papers he needed to sign, but Colin couldn't focus on the paperwork in front of him. He couldn't think of anything beyond the previous day's events.

It had been evening by the time Colin had left the station. He saw Sam loaded into the child welfare van and then he had left him, trying to ignore the betrayal in his patient's eyes, or the stab of guilt it caused him. He'd done his job – he'd analysed the child, provided a report on his findings, and handed him off to the relevant authorities. If he didn't think Sam was up to the transition then he would have detained him longer.

What Sam Winchester needed was a stable family environment and some emotional support. He did not need to be kept on a psychiatric ward, restrained, or medicated. His situation definitely needed to be monitored, but not by someone of his calibre and not at the hospital's expense. His social worker would be more than capable of arranging child or family therapy, and would be able to house him in a secure facility until the police and family services had decided just what exactly they wanted to do with him.

He'd arrived at the hospital early that morning, despite not being due to start his shift until noon. He'd had to free up a lot of time accompanying the kid to the police station and there was still paperwork and a few follow-ups that he needed to do before he could begin for the day.

Despite heading straight for his office and closing the door behind him, he had not been able to concentrate on the task at hand.

Sam's insistence that he be allowed to talk to the police, provide a statement, had taken him a little by surprise. He'd thought he'd made it clear that the only thing keeping Sam from CPS or the police's clutches was Colin's own insistence the issue not be forced.

But Sam had been determined.

He'd remained determined, even in the face of everything the police seemed to know.

Sam's claim that he hadn't attacked his father was at least corroborated by the evidence. The police had found no trace of any other weapons at the scene, and Sam had been carrying nothing but the one blade when they'd detained him. It seemed clear to Colin and the police that they were looking for a third party.

It seemed clear to everyone but Sam, who remained adamant that he and his father had been alone. Colin would stake his reputation on the fact Sam had been genuinely surprised to hear they'd found traces of human blood on the knife.

Of course, that didn't mean he was lying – it was looking more and more probable that his first diagnosis was true; Sam's mind would simply not allow him to remember the exact chain of events. A simple animal attack was easier for his brain to handle than anything else – the idea there might have been another predator in the woods that night. One with an all too human element.

Especially since the police were all but saying he'd killed them.

There had been so much blood on the kid's hands and clothing it would be almost impossible to determine what had happened. The majority of it came from the father – not residue from the attack as they'd once assumed, but transferred from when Sam had been trying to help him. But there was enough of the underlying animal/human mix to make it clear Sam had been involved in whatever had happened.

Whether he'd had the knife in his hand when the killing blow was dealt was purely a matter of speculation, as his lawyer was quick to point out. If in fact such a blow had been dealt at all. Sam could not be charged with anything until a victim came forward or a body was found.

According to Jake, one of the most coherent things Sam had said when they'd found him had revolved around his fear that he hadn't been able to kill 'it', but as Colin had pointed out, Sam's 'it' at the time had also been a monster and he'd suggested more than once that his triage doctor was some sort of shape-shifter. His medical records showed him to be delirious with the combination of dehydration, shock, and fatigue, and nothing he'd said for the first twenty-four hours of being admitted could be given any credence what-so-ever

The important thing for the time being was that no third party could be identified. The lab was still trying to trace an ID from the DNA, and admissions to local hospitals and clinics were being checked, but Colin whole heartedly believed Sam when the kid assured them they would never find a body.

He just wasn't sure whether he was reassured by the assertion or not.

And so the police were now doing their best to prove a crime had actually been committed. A second opinion had already suggested that John Winchester's wounds could be consistent with some form of animal attack, and Sam's bear story had never waivered. Colin had received a call earlier that morning to confirm that DNR had reported two other animal related deaths within the same patch of forest, just miles to the north of them and across the county line.

What had sounded such an improbable tale at first was starting to gain an air of credence. The testimony of John Winchester himself was now considered the most crucial piece of evidence outstanding. The last reports he'd heard from the ICU suggested that Winchester senior's vitals were improving, so such a testimony might no-longer be that far away.

He'd heard from the facility Clover had delivered Sam to earlier that day as well. Sam had been moved to a secure care facility in Tiverton that housed troubled or disturbed teens.

From the sound of it, he was not at all happy with the move, or his new environment. The fact he was now fifty miles away from his ill father, was still not in contact with his brother, and was kept on lock down as the institute considered him a flight risk no doubt all contributed to his sullen and un-cooperative behaviour. Sam might not have been officially charged with anything, yet, but he was clearly a person of interest and it would not be in CPS's best interest to lose him. He was probably more smothered and watched in his new location than he had ever been on the hospital ward.

Sam had also refused to come to the phone and speak with him. He couldn't say the snub came as a surprise; Sam was no doubt feeling betrayed, but he couldn't say it didn't sting a little. Colin couldn't pretend he didn't recognise the interview with CPS had left his charge terrified.

The phone on his desk rang and he pushed the thoughts of Winchester and fear aside.

"Harding," he offered into the phone.

"This is Julie from the ER. Mrs Taggert has just been re-admitted. I understand you performed a consult on her the last time she was here."

"She's cutting again?"

"Looks like."

"Ok. Tend to the wounds and keep her calm and I'll be down when you're done to talk."

He hung up and sighed deeply, dropping Winchester's chart in the filing cabinet at his side, losing it from view as he flicked forward to 'T' for Taggert.

-0-

"How about another round, boys?"

Dean glanced at the clock above the bar and saw that it was already much later than he'd thought, but he was reluctant to deny the smiling face in front of him anything.

"I think we've already waved goodbye to your early start," Caleb reassured him, pushing his glass across the bar for a refill.

"Sure, why not," Dean agreed, revelling at the blush in the waitress's cheeks as he smiled in her direction.

The hunt had gone well and they'd made it back to civilization a couple of hours ago. There had been no messages waiting on his cell telling him to make it over to Jim's any sooner, and perhaps even more surprisingly, no rant from his little brother about how unfair it was for their dad to pull him out of school again so close to midterms. Assuming Sam even knew that when they left for Jim's they would be leaving Woodhouse for good. The depth of his excitement when he'd been explaining to Dean about sports try-outs suggested he hadn't figured it out the last time Dean had spoken to the kid.

There'd been no answer from his father's cell when he'd called a couple of hours ago – in fact it didn't seem like the old man even had the damn thing turned on. He'd probably forgotten to charge it, again, and there'd be no remedying that while they were on the road. No matter how much Sam bitched about it.

He and Caleb were done here. If he hit the road in the morning he could be at Jim's before lunchtime the next day, get the full low-down from them then.

When the girl set his new beer down in front of him she also slid a cocktail napkin towards him. On it were scrawled the words 'I get off at 2 – Carly'.

She smiled at him over her shoulder and swayed her hips provocatively as she moved to serve the next customer.

Dean smiled to himself and looked again at the clock. It would be irresponsible to leave so soon after the job was finished. Maybe he'd hang out here a little while longer, just to be safe.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**A/n: **Huge thanks to everyone who stuck with me this far, I hope it's worth the wait. I thought Dean would like to have the last word…

**Day 8-9: Dean**

Dean was woken by the harsh chimes of his phone a little after noon.

He groaned and buried his head beneath his pillow, letting out a sigh of relief when the damn thing fell silent.

He peered out from the covers at the digital display on the nightstand, squinting at the light that was invading the room and stabbing his eyeballs. It was a while before he could get the numbers to make any sense.

He was just drifting off to sleep when the noise started up again, frustratingly loud.

"Ugh… just answer it already," was groaned from under the mound of covers to his right.

Wincing at the light Dean reached out an arm and groped along the counter until his fingers closed around the offending piece of plastic.

"'lo," he croaked, not liking the way his head vibrated as he cleared his throat. His mouth felt fuzzy and he was definitely starting to doubt the wisdom of those last few shots of whiskey.

"Dean? Oh, thank God. We've got a situation."

"Jim?"

"Yeah son, it's me. I'm sorry to call, Caleb seemed to think you might have your hands full with clean-up, but we need you on this one."

"What?" Dean's brain felt stupid and he sat up slowly, swinging his legs out of bed and trying to ignore the way the room was rocking. "Sammy kicking up a fuss about missing his exams?" he griped. Did two grown men really have to resort to waking him because of one teen throwing a snit? "Put him on, I'll talk to him."

He heard movement and the bed shifted behind him. When he turned he could see Carly pulling a t-shirt over her head.

'Sorry' he mouthed, but she shook her head and stood to shimmy into her jeans. Dean was momentarily distracted watching her and he almost didn't hear what Jim had said.

"What do you mean he's not there? Where is he?"

Even Sam knew better then to take off in a huff when they were at Jim's cabin. There was literally no-where to go.

"I mean I haven't seen him. Sam and your father never made it out here."

"What? No… they were supposed to be there…"

"Friday, I know. At first I figured they were just running late but it's been two days and I can't reach them."

Dean remembered again the blank tone he'd heard when he'd tried to ring his father, and realised with a pang that had been two days ago. The plan had been to meet at Jim's but no fixed date or time had really been set; he'd figured if he'd been needed his dad would call; tell him to get his ass in gear.

"Okay. Ummm…" he ran his free hand through his hair; it was hard to think.

"I called my office, to see if they'd left a message… Dean, the hospital has been in touch – Gillian said it was over a week ago. They said they were calling about your father and Sam.

Dean's insides went cold, his vision suddenly painful in its clarity.

"What happened? Are they alright?" he was off the bed and reaching for his duffle before he was even aware of it, scooping up what meagre belongings he'd left out and searching for his pants.

"I called the hospital. They're saying it was some kind of freak bear attack. Sam's okay – they kept him if a couple of days for observation but he's been discharged now. Your Dad… Dean, it sounds bad. They wouldn't tell me much over the phone but he's still in the ICU."

Dean's mind was reeling. He'd wanted to stay in Woodhouse and work the job with his father but the other man had insisted it was a two man hunt and that he and Sam were more than up to it. And then Caleb had called asking for back up – back up that hadn't even really been needed – and Dean had been unreachable when his family had needed him the most. From what he'd gathered from when he'd last spoken to them they'd done the hunt a week ago; what the hell had happened that his father was still in intensive care?

Sam must be freaking out, holding the fort alone.

"What… wait? What do you mean Sam was discharged? He's just a kid; they let him leave alone? The kid's good, but he's not _that_ good."

"No, he's with Social Services some place in the city. They wouldn't give me any details. I don't think you'll be able to get a bead on him until you're there in person, until you can prove you're a blood relative."

"Jesus."

"My thought exactly," the preacher agreed.

"Okay. Thanks for calling, and for trying to find out. I'll let you know what's going on when I get there."

He shut off the phone and finished dressing in silence.

"I take it you're heading out now?" Carly asked and Dean jumped. He'd forgotten she was still in the room. Forgotten he'd been spending a crazy few days with her while his family was falling apart without him.

"Yeah, my dad's sick."

"I'm sorry."

"I've gotta go, make sure he's okay, take care of my little brother, you know?"

"Of course. Will you..?"

"Do me a favour – can you hand the key in at reception when you leave? Thanks."

If she raised any objections he didn't hear them; he was too distracted to hear much of anything as he slipped out of the motel room and threw his duffle in the car.

A few minutes ago he'd have said he was in no state to drive but it turned out there was nothing as sobering as finding out your dad was maybe dying and your brother had been shipped into state care.

Carly stood in the doorway to watch him go but he didn't even wave goodbye as he put the car in gear and peeled out of the lot. He was still a good couple of hundred miles from Woodhouse, but hopefully he'd be there by nightfall.

-0-

He passed an area five miles out of town where the undergrowth at the side of the road was cut back, and yellow crime scene tape reflected neon in his headlights. He slowed and drew along side, watching as the tape fluttered in the breeze but it didn't speak to him; didn't allow him to feel any closer to them than he was. Any closer to figuring out the truth.

He'd called the hospital a couple of hours back and had been given the address of the place in Tiverton where his brother was being held. He paused again when he reached the next crossroads, faced with the agonising decision of whether to head straight on through Woodhouse to the hospital and his father, or whether to turn off and head for the city and Sam.

In truth, traffic on the highway had made the decision for him. He wouldn't be able to leave with his brother without petitioning the courts, and he doubted if he turned up on their doorstep at nine at night they'd be inclined to let him in. Sam would be okay for one more night – he'd been on his own for the past seven as it was.

Visiting hours for the ICU were long since over by the time Dean arrived but he was led into a conference room and left to wait for the attending doctor to speak to him. There he was given answers to all his questions, and a healthy dose of guilt over his prolonged absence.

At least there was one positive thing to come from Dean having missed the past week of his father's hospital stay – the prognosis they were able to give him was a lot more promising than it would have been if Dean had been present initially.

Over the last couple of days John Winchester had been weaned off the ventilator and was now breathing on his own, and had been drifting in and out of awareness. Things had been touch and go for a while but they were finally confident enough to say they expected him to make a full recovery in time.

Despite visiting hours being over, Dean was able to convince the doctor to let him step into his father's room for a brief 10 minute stay, and he didn't even have to lie to do it. He really had been driving in a state of near panic all day imagining the worst, and he really did think it would give him peace of mind to be able to see the truth of his father's improvement for himself. He was promised he could take a few minutes while they tracked down someone to talk to him about his brother's brief hospital stay.

The nurse he followed to his father's unit had a kind and sympathetic face, and for some reason it made Dean feel better to know she'd been watching over his father most nights since he'd been admitted.

"He probably won't be awake," Dean was warned, "and he won't be very with it if he is. He still needs his rest, so try not to get him too agitated if he does wake. He's been pretty confused."

Dean nodded and swallowed.

"I have to say, whatever detained you, I'm glad you're back. It might sound corny but I do believe it will do a lot to aid his recovery knowing there's someone here for him, helping him along."

"I hope so too. But my brother's been here, right?" Dean asked, surprised. He knew his father and brother butted heads but nothing could bring them together like a near fatal mauling.

The nurse shifted uneasily.

"He didn't even visit?"

"He wanted too," she assured him hastily. "Put up quite a fuss about it too, from what I heard. But your dad was hurt pretty bad and they didn't think it would be good for your brother to let him up here."

"Good for him how?" Dean asked incredulously. "They thought leaving him on his own to worry would be better for him?"

"I really can't say. I don't know much about your brother's stay, only that the police and family services argued to keep him away. I'm sure they'll explain everything to you when you speak to them."

Dean nodded, not feeling remotely reassured. They better believe they were going to be doing some explaining.

"I'll be back to tell you when they're ready for you downstairs," she promised, before leaving him alone by his father's bed.

Dean was almost glad he'd been out of town; his father looked awful, he didn't want to contemplate how this could be considered an improvement.

"What the Hell have the pair of you gotten into," he murmured, taking a seat by his father' side.

He hadn't been expecting an answer but the silence still felt like a condemnation. He'd had fun with Caleb – it felt good to be out of his father's shadow, be seen as a hunter in his own right. He'd revelled in that and had delayed the moment when it would have to come to an end, when his primary job would be running his brother to school and checking he didn't skimp on his training.

He'd do the school run until Sammy graduated without complaint if he could call do-over.

It was dark in the unit but a shaft of moonlight fell over the bed, highlighting his father's pained face and day old stubble. He wondered if the nurse he'd just met had been the one to shave him, and for some reason the thought brought tears to his eyes.

He was so very tired. Now he was here he would have a hard time moving again, regaining his forward momentum. But there was still so much to do.

There was a cabinet beside his father's bed but the draws were locked. It only took a moment to jimmy it open and examine the meagre personal belongings within – a watch, a set of keys, and his father's wallet. Dean did a quick scan of the wallet to be safe but it held no form of ID at all, fake or otherwise, and lifted a twenty, then pocketed the keys to his father's truck before closing it back up.

He shook the draw a little harder than he meant to slipping the lock back into place and heard something clatter on the dresser's surface. Something had toppled over and was rolling towards the edge. He leaned forward and grabbed a set of interlocking metal loops before it could slip from the table.

Dean stared at the cheap trick for a couple of minutes before he shook his head in confusion, setting it back in its place at his father's bedside.

The nurse returned far too quickly for Dean's liking but he didn't protest, just bid his father farewell and followed her into the corridor. He wanted to stay, he wanted to sit and close his eyes, but he wanted to hear about his brother too and giving in to his instincts to cause a scene would not help Sam. CPS was probably having a field day about this already without Dean providing them with another reason why Sam was better off in care.

So instead of giving the police and doctors a piece of his mind for having locked his brother away, he thanked them for keeping him safe; bit his tongue when they explained why he'd been kept isolated and unable to use a phone or see his father, and clenched his fists so tight he was sure his nails were going to cause his palms to bleed while they told him about the psych hold and how he'd been shipped off to a secure home fifty miles away from anything he knew.

No, Dean wasn't sure exactly what they'd been doing out there in the first place – he knew his dad and brother had been meaning to spend some quality time together while he was away so if Sam said they'd been camping then Dean saw no reason to believe that was untrue.

Obviously Dean was relieved to know that no other animal attacks had been reported – that at least seemed to suggest that Sam and their dad had managed to kill it, or at least wound it badly enough to cause it to go to ground. But he did put in a call to Jim after he left the hospital to report in as promised, and to get the older hunter to pass the word along that there was a potentially unfinished job in the area, or at least clear up that would be required before the DNR stumbled on a body, or a wounded creature, they couldn't account for.

He also had no explanation for why there was a stranger's blood on his brother's knife or clothing – at least, none he cared to share. If he didn't know there was no chance of the police finding an angry victim or a body then he'd maybe have been more worried about it, but the police freely admitted they couldn't hold his brother unless they could prove a crime had been committed.

They left a message with his brother's caseworker to call him as soon as she could to set in motion having Sam released into his care.

It was almost midnight by the time he left the hospital and there was still one last thing he had to do before he could head back to the cabin and crash. The police had made it clear they were yet to find his father's truck. Given what was stashed in its trunk, this was something Dean was keen to not see happen.

It didn't take him too long scanning the maps their dad had left out and recalling what details he could about the hunt to realise the police had been searching the wrong area. If the job had been his, Dean would have parked further out and hiked into the sucker's territory from the other side, hopefully taking it by surprise. It would mean hell of a trek, but Dean was sure his father would have done the same.

Twenty four hours ago he would have been proud of that realisation. Now he was just tired and empty.

Knowing roughly where the truck was and retrieving it were two different matters. He didn't dare take a car from one of the neighbours in case it was considered suspicious one was reported missing hours after he breezed back into town - especially if it was eventually discovered abandoned anywhere near the site of his family's 'accident'. In a town as close knit as Woodhouse, where everybody knew everybody else's business, finding someone who wouldn't connect the dots or ask questions who could drive him out into the middle of no-where, was no easy feat, and even then he had to walk for an hour before the truck finally came into view.

He left the truck at a motel on the other side of Tiverton and checked into a room. Ignoring the pull of a soft clean bed and the temptation to lift another car from there – the intention was to keep the truck _away_ from the prying eyes of the police – he made his slow way back to Woodhouse.

It was long past dawn before he crawled into bed, and it felt as though his head had barely touched the pillow before he was woken once again by the tinny chirping of his phone.

Glancing at his watch he saw that it was just past 9am. He'd been asleep for almost three hours.

Maria Clover sounded like an officious bitch, but he knew better than to antagonise her, no matter how tired or frustrated he was feeling. If he had his way he'd just break in and smuggle Sam out, at gun point it necessary, but he doubted something like that would look good on Sam's permanent record.

He just hoped his brother appreciated his restraint.

She had a meeting all morning so he couldn't get an appointment to meet her until two, and she made it clear he would not be allowed access to Sam without her authorisation.

He didn't go back to sleep after the call. He rose and showered, only realising after the water made him light-headed that he'd put nothing in his stomach since the whiskey chasers of the previous morning.

There was nothing edible in the fridge and the bread bin looked like a toxic waste dump, so he grabbed a hearty breakfast in a diner on the way to the hospital and tried to get his thoughts in order.

He found in his father a vast improvement on yesterday's level of coherence. He gave the other man a brief rundown of the situation and the story they'd given the police, but he wasn't confident any of the information was being retained.

When visiting hours were over he returned to the cabin for the last time, packing their belongings into the Impala and binning anything that was not of vital importance. The art project that Sam had been working on for the past three weeks had to be sacrificed, but since it was unlikely Sam would be finishing out the end of the semester in Woodhouse, Dean couldn't afford the space it took up. He didn't have the truck and he didn't want to have to make two journeys transferring everything to the motel he'd checked into that morning.

He met Ms Clover at her office in town. He was keen to be taken straight to see Sam but he first had to jump through several hoops, defending his father's choices and reassuring her they had Sam's best interests at heart.

These people wanted to take his brother and put him somewhere alone and unprotected, where he wouldn't be allowed to salt his windows or put up protective charms, where his knowledge would have him ostracised and other people's innocence would get him killed. They would be worried if they fully appreciated his brother's abilities with a blade, or the fact that at fifteen he already had a favourite gun, but that had saved his life on more than one occasion. Not only that, but it saved others, too.

In the end he came right out and asked her if Sam appeared grateful for their help or not, pointed out that if they were so awful to live with then Sam would not have put up any attempt to get back to them, or argue for his release.

Dean took the tick in her cheek, and the fact Sam was still on lockdown because he was considered a flight risk, to mean he'd hit the mark.

The Juvenile Detention Centre in Tiverton was a miserable looking building, one of the worst he'd seen, and given some of the places Dean had stayed in his life that was saying something. The paint on the walls was flaking off and the corridors smelt of a strange mixture of dirty socks and cabbage.

He was escorted to his brother's room by a surly looking orderly, conscious of the fact Maria was avoiding his eye. He kept his jaw clenched while the grumpy warden worked the locks on his brother's door, and by the time he was finally swinging it open Dean's whole face ached.

Dean was through the door as soon as it opened, eyes searching.

Sam was huddled on the bed in the centre of the room, an open book held loosely in his grasp and his attention fixed on the wall. He was wearing loose sweats and a grey t-shirt that Dean didn't recognise.

When Dean entered the room Sam looked up and their eyes locked. Dean could see him blink a couple of times, as though he couldn't quite understand what he was seeing, then the book fell to the floor as Sam hurled himself off the bed.

Dean was slightly taken aback when Sam did something he hadn't done for nearly five years; threw himself across the room and hugged him.

Dean smiled and felt is shoulders lower as the rest of the tension he'd been carrying faded.

Then Sam pulled away and started hitting him.

"Where the hell have you been?" the teen demanded, swatting him on the chest, the arm, the shoulder. Dean would have been happy to stand there and let him vent – there was no real strength behind the blows and he deserved worse – but a throat cleared behind him and Maria Clover stepped into the room.

Sam's eyes widened and his arms fell to his sides, and Dean didn't miss the way his brother took a step away from her, keeping Dean's body between him and the CPS representative.

"You ready to blow this joint?"

"Really?"

Dean wanted to kill something at the hope he saw in his brother's eyes, and the fact his gaze flit to Maria's face as though awaiting permission.

"Unless you want to stay, hang out here a while longer," Dean offered.

"God no," Sam shuddered, and Dean threw his brother's case worker a satisfied glare.

Sam inched towards the door, for once in his life waiting for his brother to take the lead.

"Don't you want to get your stuff together?" Dean asked him.

Sam just shrugged, shifting uncomfortable. "Nothing to get," he murmured.

Dean clenched his jaw and nodded before heading for the door. He kept himself firmly between Sam and Ms Clover and any other of the facility's personnel, and kept one hand gripping his brother's arm as they made their way through the corridor and down the stairs. He didn't let go until they were through the front door and heading down the path towards the parking lot, and Sam didn't call him on the contact.

His brother kept his head down as they walked, looking up for the first time as they exited the building when he inhaled deeply, not even commenting on it if maybe Dean's grip got a little tighter before he finally let go. He couldn't hide the wince though, but shook his head at Dean's look of silent apology. None of the facilities staff or social services had commented on the fact Dean was manoeuvring his brother by his injured arm, which just made their belief they knew what was best for Sam all the more absurd.

"Why don't you go wait in the car?" he offered, holding out the keys. "There's a couple of things we need to talk about before we can leave, but you don't need to be there."

Sam smiled gratefully and snagged the keys.

"Can I drive?" he asked, but the light tone didn't reach his eyes. The question was probably a reflex at this stage but even so, Dean appreciated the effort.

"Don't push it."

He watched Sam drift away and settle himself in the passenger seat of the Impala before he turned back to the welfare personnel. He had to sign a few forms and make a couple of appointments they wouldn't keep, and hopefully this whole incident would soon be a bad memory.

Sam was huddled on the seat when Dean reached the car, feet on the upholstery and knees against his chest, leaning forward and bracing himself with both palms on the dash. He was staring into the foot-well and didn't look up as Dean tugged on the driver's side door to find it locked.

He knocked on the window to attract Sam's attention and his brother finally raised his eyes, starting at Dean for almost a full minute before finally uncurling and reaching over to unlock the door and let him in.

"You okay?" Dean asked, settling into his seat.

"Can we just go?"

Dean nodded and started the engine.

"They feed you in that place?" he asked. "You wanna grab something to eat?"

"Not hungry," Sam murmured, bringing his feet back onto the seat so he could hug his knees to his chest, turning away from Dean to stare out of the window.

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He drove past the signs for McDonalds and took the turning back to the motel.

"I'm sorry… that I wasn't…" he turned to take in his brother again. Sam had moved his head to face the windshield at the sound of Dean's voice. "I got here as soon as I could."

"I know," Sam assured him, flicking his eyes up to Dean's face for a second before lowering his head again and hiding them beneath his bangs.

The rest of the journey was made in silence. Sam sat up straighter when they pulled into the motel's parking lot, glancing Dean's way in surprise. They pulled into a spot alongside their father's truck.

"Dad's here?" Sam asked, scrambling to open the car door before Dean had even put her in park.

"No," he said gently. "He's still at the hospital."

"Oh… okay." He sank back into his seat, the breeze from the open door ruffling the hair around his face.

"He's doing better," Dean offered. "Semi awake and everything. Visiting starts in a couple of hours, we can go see him then."

"Really?" Sam's face whipped round to look at him so fast Dean thought it had to hurt, and the hope and gratitude in Sam's face was painful to see.

"Of course," Dean told him steadily. "Now let's get inside."

Dean sat on his bed and worried while Sam took an inordinate time in the bathroom. The Sam that came out was barefoot and towelling dry his hair, but was at least wearing his own clothes now and was recognisably Sam, just subdued.

The next couple of hours were awkward. Sam answered enough of Dean's questions to reassure him the hunt was over and they'd covered their tracks as best they could, but didn't volunteer more than the basic information.

He did stand in alarm when Dean got up and made to leave the room, blushing and folding into himself when he realised Dean was only heading to the bathroom. That, and the rumbling stomach the kid seemed determined to stoically ignore, convinced Dean to order pizza to be delivered straight to their door.

Sam picked at his first slice like he was trying to see how slow he could eat it, but he got it all down and seemed to gain momentum after that. The way he quietly murmured his thanks when Dean offered him the last slice instead of engaging in the usual battle for supremacy, made Dean want to do something permanent damage.

Sam actually had a wash and combed his hair before they set out to the hospital, which freaked Dean out even more – he hadn't been aware his brother even owned a comb. He trailed behind Dean like a clingy shadow as they entered the hospital and made their way up to their father's wing. A couple of doctors and a cute nurse said hello, which just caused Sam to scuttle even closer, and Dean would swear he didn't see the kid take a breath until they were safely in an elevator and out of sight.

Dean had been worried about how Sam would react seeing their father in the condition he was in, but he should have known better. For Dean, the pale skin and hollows around their father's eyes, the collection of monitors, was still a shock. He had to steel himself each time to enter.

Sam took one look at the still form on the bed and breathed out a sigh of relief.

"He looks better," Sam offered, shifting under Dean's scrutiny. "Better than the last time I saw him anyway, when the…" He took in a shaky breath and trailed off.

Sam moved to sit by his father's bed but Dean hovered for a moment by the hospital screen to give them some privacy. He didn't hear when Sam said, just took in the hitch in his chest, the way his trembling fingers hovered over his father's hand, unsure.

"You won't hurt him," Dean assured him, moving a chair to the other side of the bed so he could sit and watch over his father and brother at the same time. They were both a wreck, but they were all together now, in the same room at the same time, and for some reason it was always better that way.

As long as he could keep his family together the rest of it seemed less important.

Sam's fingers closed around his father's hand and Dean saw the older man's squeeze back. Sam caught his gaze and smiled.

Together, they could fix anything.

END


End file.
